FORTY: hamburger
Alone. She was alone.
Meryl's soft, violet eyes slid slowly open. She peered up into the darkness of the room. Stifling a yawn with the back of her hand, she turned her eyes to the window. Scattered moonlight seeped in through the thin, silk curtains, casting the room in a pale glow. She watched it for a time, fingering the key around her neck as she mulled over the events of the day. What they had learned from Bosovich, as well as Faye Valentine upon her arrival, bothered her more than she cared to admit. Maybe it was bothering Vash too. The day had slipped by, almost stoically, and night fell. Little more was said of the whole ordeal while they waited for Faye to get some much-needed rest; she and Bran had been given lodge in two of the other rooms of Mercia's home.
But where was Vash? He hadn't said anything about leaving. She could still taste her lover's lips on hers, even after he had gone. She longed to kiss him again, to hold him close and swear to him that everything would be all right. If only she were certain of that herself.
Pushing herself to her feet, Meryl grabbed for her robe and pulled it over her slender form. Wearily, she stumbled for the bathroom. The light was out, the room empty. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she headed on in, closing the door behind her. When she was through, she came back out into the bedroom, stretching, and moved over to the window. She wondered again where Vash was. He was the type who would vanish from time to time. It was nothing rare or unexpected.
But, she wondered where of all the places he could go in New Hope he would actually go. Maybe, she decided, he was on the rooftop. She slipped out of her robe and changed into a nightgown, and headed outside to find him. The house felt empty without Vash. Mercia was probably fast asleep, though Meryl knew it was late enough in the morning that she would be up before long, preparing for the day to come.
Uri, the massive black dog that had befriended Bran, lay at the doorstep. He lifted his huge head up to peer at her with one eye as she paused in the doorway, staring down at him. Bran and Mercia had ensured her the big dog wouldn't bite. Meryl wasn't so sure. He didn't act like a man-eater, but his massive maw seemed large enough to encompass her head without too much trouble. He looked quite comfortable, and that was encouraging. She had never been fond of dogs, especially big dogs that outweighed her by a hundred pounds.
The beast lay his head down with a low grunt. Meryl took that as a good sign and slipped quickly past him, out into the night. He didn't act like he was going to jump up and bite her—in fact, he looked lazy and fat, especially now—but that didn't mean she could simply expel her fears. She didn't like dogs, and hadn't since she was very young. That was just the long and short of it.
The world before her was dark, but cozy. She wrapped her arms tight about herself. The dry air was cool and soothing against her skin. Eden—she'd come to think of it as Eden, and not by New Hope, as it was called by its inhabitants—was even more beautiful at night than during the daytime, she decided. Still, something ate at her. It didn't hit her until she turned the corner of the building and found the empty patch of grass between the house and a nearby grove of trees.
Meryl froze in mid-stride. Bran's jeep was missing.
Vash had left Eden, and she had a pretty good idea of where he'd gone. He'd probably made the decision to go on to the lost city on his own. He hadn't wanted to bother her with troubles they both knew she couldn't help him with. He probably wanted to scope out the situation and then come back for her. That made pretty good sense, actually. Surely he wouldn't go in without her.
She only hoped she had it right.
Her heart wasn't at all sure. Slowly, Meryl lay back against the house. Her knees buckled beneath her, and slowly, she slid down into a sitting position in the soft grass. Her heart pounded in her chest. She felt utterly alone.
A heavy wind whipped the sand of a desolate city about them as Vash strode from the arena with Faye at his heels. Bran leaned heavily against his jeep at the edge of the ruins, massive arms folded over his massive chest. Behind them lay only the darkness of the night. Faye fumed over what they had discovered: the vacant ruins of a long-forgotten city.
Whatever it was that had been here before, it was gone now. The army, Quinn, Morgante, everything that he so feared, the threat against his very life, his world, had evaded him. For the time being.
"They were here, damnit! I saw them in the arena!"
Vash stared to the heavens for a moment, contemplating the future. There was so much that he had to do, so little time in which to accomplish the task. The winds had vanquished any trail that might have guided him toward the army of clones. He wanted to say something encouraging, to put her mind to rest that he believed her, but he stayed silent. It wasn't her fault the clones were gone. They were off to do whatever Quinn intended of them. Faye had no control over that.
Still, he didn't speak.
"Vash, are you listening? Damn you, they were here!"
"Faye, shut up," he said quietly, shifting his gaze to him.
"Huh?" Her face twisted in confusion, and then lit into a fireball of fury as she clenched her fists tight at her sides. "Hey!"
Vash eyed her. He was in a dark mood and didn't particularly care to be harassed at the moment. "We've got a problem. They're going south."
"South?" She frowned, biting her lower lip. Her anger evaporated as she considered what he'd just told her. "You mean toward the cities?"
"Not quite, but I know where they're headed."
"But how could you possibly…"
He cut her off with a glare. "I just know, Faye. Let's get back to New Hope." Vash turned from her and headed again for the jeep. A distant sound interrupted his thoughts. He turned his head slightly to the side, peering out into the empty desert to the south, and froze in mid-stride.
In that moment, the crack of gunfire echoed across the land. Vash leapt to the side, snatching Faye, and tumbling across the rock-hard ground. Faye let out a cry of pain as he landed on her, and then rolled so that his back was to the gunfire, the girl cradled in his arms. Bran collapsed as well, holding his hands tightly over his ears as he bellowed in fury. Vash inspected Faye for injury, but she didn't seem hurt. She seemed angry. Already her hand was pulling free the pistol at her hip. Vash rested a hand against hers. She glared at the interference.
"What are…"
"Hush!" Vash hissed. He turned his head so that he peered with one eye toward the darkness. He knew what he had seen, something she could never see. It would have been difficult even in the light of day. It seemed a miracle that he'd spotted the man in the darkness at all, taking aim at them from a distance. He looked back to Faye, voice very low. "Get your ass to the jeep. Stay with Bran, you got that?"
She appeared ready to protest, but instead gasped when black steel flashed before her eyes. The angel arm magnum clicked as the safety was released. Vash checked to be certain the weapon was ready, and then pushed himself to his knees.
"You heard me, Faye," he hissed, gesturing with the gun toward the jeep. He turned a cautious eye to the shadows. "It's not safe out in the open. Now move it!"
Any argument she might have prepared was quelled in that instant. She struggled to make her way, staying low to the ground, toward the jeep. An occasional bullet torched the night just overhead, but Vash knew by trajectory of the bullets that they were no more than warning shots.
He had to get the line of sight focused away from his friends.
In a furious rush, Vash the Stampede vanished into the darkness. He angled southwest, away from the enemy, gun up and ready to fire a volley to draw the enemy's attention away from his friends. Already he could see them. Whoever they were, they seemed intent. His heart pounded in his ears as he raced on. A spray of gunfire cut the path before and behind him; somehow he avoided injury. He still felt the effects of the battle with the female. Pains of wounds yet unhealed in the time since the battle pulsed through him with each lengthy stride.
Bullets whizzed past him. There, he thought. Gotta follow that line of sight!
He dipped his head low and dodged to the right. Fast, intent, the plant-spawn took aim. He hesitated, unsure if he'd actually seen his target. Before he could make up his mind, a bullet slammed into the desert floor at his feet, sending a cloud of debris up into his face. Vash cringed and spit out a mouthful of dirt. He dodged left, dove to his stomach, and spun clear of another gunshot.
As the world about him whirled in his vision, he came to a knee and took aim. Before he could return fire, a third bullet brushed his cheek. He felt the heat of it only briefly. A scarlet trickle seeped through the broken flesh. He cringed, his vision blurred. His target was lost.
The crack of a forth shot resonated through the desert night.
Keep your head on straight, Needle Noggin!
Vash grimaced as Wolfwood slid again into his conscience. He tried to ignore the voice. Desperate, he turned to the left. Hot pain torched his shoulder as a bullet ripped the black jacket at his right shoulder and raked against the flesh. He let out a cry of pain and dropped behind a rock. He grabbed the wound and felt hot blood ooze between his fingers.
They're good, he thought, fighting to gather his wits.
But you're better, Wolfwood scolded. So act like it!
It's three of them, and one of me.
Three Vash clones against the authentic version. What advantage did a single plant-spawn have against three others that were his equal?
Desire to succeed, Needle Noggin!
Vash cringed. More gunshots torched the sky just overhead.
You have Meryl, you idiot! Vash's eyes flew open in realization. Fight for Meryl!
The pain forgotten, the rage of understanding exploded through Vash. The desire was there, the hot need to face this all-encompassing darkness that swarmed all about him, to cut through it like a flash of lightning, to reach finality on the other side. See the future, he thought as his destiny pounded in his ears. He came up in that moment, squeezing off a single bullet as he darted forward. All about him, he felt the heat of bullets as they whizzed past his head, none finding their mark as he dodged this way and that in driving effort to take the battle to the enemy.
As he moved forward, a sudden realization slammed through him.
The enemy wasn't shooting to kill. They wanted something. But what? A distraction? Vash didn't have time to answer the question. All that he knew was they weren't trying to kill him. The thought encouraged him, and he sped forward, avoiding the dodges now, letting his legs pump like mad as he closed the gap between them.
As he drew closer, Vash lifted the angel arm gun. Another bullet whipped past him, and nicked his cheek; he felt the heat of it as it stung the delicate skin, the sharp pain as it torched the flesh. A spray of hot blood pulsed from the wound. He began to rethink his theory.
He knew he was much too close to slow down now. The decision had been made, and there was no going back. Only about thirty feet from the enemy, Vash gave a mighty kick to the ground and shot skyward, taking aim at his clones with the magnum.
Five shots later, he took aim with his machine gun.
There could be no mercy, he knew. These men had already chosen their fate.
Vash's expression hardened as he came over them, flinging himself head over heels as he soared through the sky, and squeezed the trigger.
He saw the plant-spawn there, staring up at him through the strips of metallic armor over their eyes. They bore no true expressions. Vash could see each bullet as they cut through the air, could feel his heart racing in his chest as he watched each one find their mark, slamming home with the force of a jackhammer.
Flesh turned to hamburger in a matter of a few seconds.
When he landed on his feet, after completing the grim task he had taken upon himself, Vash the Stampede crumpled to a knee, dropped the angel arm weapon to the dusty ground, and put his head into his biological right hand. Tears mixed with the blood of the two wounds from the enemy's bullets. The salt of them stung his wounds, but he didn't care.
No wound could ever cut so deep as the wounded spirit.
He had killed again. It was a feeling he just couldn't get used to.
I told you so, a voice whispered to him from beyond the grave. He felt a cold hand rest against his shoulder, but when he glanced back, he saw that he was still alone. Only the death of his three duplicates remained. Vash drew a slow breath, shaking against the fear.
"What now, Knives?" Vash mumbled as he sobbed into his palms. "What do I do now?"
He knew it was a question Knives could never answer. It was simply a question he would have to answer for himself.
The journey back to New Hope was as bleak and quiet as the trip to the ruins. The City of Yesterday, as Bran had described it. The former Gung-Ho Gun seemed edgy, bent over the steering wheel, broad shoulders stooped as he peered out into the darkness. Behind them, a sliver of one of Gunsmoke's twin suns appeared just beyond the eastern horizon, and a wondrous, crimson glow crept steadily across the dawn.
Vash watched the road ahead of him with his elbow rested on car door and his cheek on his knuckles. He hadn't said a word since they'd left the city, and that bothered Faye. She knew what he had done to his duplicates was torturing him inside, though she wasn't exactly sure she understood why. It had been simple: kill or be killed. Vash had done exactly what he'd had to do, no more or less. Yet here he was, moping as if he'd committed a heinous crime. This was a guy deemed the worst criminal in this miserable little rock's entire dismal history, yet he was mourning the deaths of men created from his own blood in some Godforsaken lab. The very thought made her want to scream. What the hell was wrong with this lunatic? Did he have any pride whatsoever?
But Faye understood. He had pride—a lot of pride, she could tell—and maybe that was the problem. He took pride in life—not just his own, but pride in the lives of everyone that he came into contact with throughout his life. They'd only known each other briefly, having met twice, and on awkward occasions, and yet he treated her respectfully, as if her friendship, or at least her opinion of him, was all that mattered in his world.
If his biggest concern was public perception, Faye realized, his goal was unobtainable. The people feared him, and hated him for the rumors that the hand of fate had dealt him. No, he didn't treat her like a human being because he feared a drop in public opinion. He was honestly concerned for her well-being. Faye thought that rare for anyone, let alone a ruthless outlaw with a sixty billion double-dollar bounty on his head.
She didn't know whether to be grateful or mortified, being as she'd never actually had someone care for her well-being since waking up from her cryogenic sleep several years ago. Not really. She continued to sit there, hands folded in her lap as she peered over to him, wondering.
Who was this Vash the Stampede, who could cause so much turmoil at the mere mention of his name? Faye wondered.
She thought they must be a sight to see. A massive mess of a man with the mind of child, an outlaw in disguise, and herself, a stranger from another world who knew nothing about the land where she and her bounty hunter comrades had been marooned.
Finally, as the sun rose completely up over the horizon, they came to the underground lake that surrounded the strange world known as New Hope. Bran brought his jeep up onto the lake and tore across the soft, salt-poisoned soil, toward the village beyond.
"Vash?" He glanced to her out of the corner of his eye, and shifted so that he was looking at her. He smiled, a false smile, she knew, something he brought out only to encourage her. Even though she knew the smile meant nothing to him, it warmed her spirit. Folding her arms over her chest, she leaned back and studied him with a thoughtful expression. "What will you do now?"
His shrug was noncommittal. "Dunno. Maybe take it easy for awhile."
Faye arched an eyebrow. Vash turned his smile to the land about him, as if to sightsee while he had the time. She slumped deeper into her seat, lowering her eyes. She didn't really know him. How could she know him, after the little time they'd been together, and yet she already knew something very important about him.
Vash the Stampede was a man with secrets. Dark secrets.
She didn't try to speak to him for the rest of the journey. Whatever he was planning on doing, she knew he wouldn't be taking it easy. Whatever was next, he would be thrust into danger the likes she had never known, yet she knew not to speak of it. He wouldn't be talking to her about it, anyway.
Soon, the big, black jeep rolled up over the manmade dike that surrounded New Hope and started off down the path toward Mercia's. Sitting there on the front porch were two young women, about the same build and height, one a few years older. Meryl pushed her long hair back and peered toward the sound of the oncoming jeep, and rose to her feet next to Mercia. Bran pulled up to a stop at the front door. Instantly Vash leapt out over the side. Faye rose and lay her arms against the crossbar between the front and back seats and peered to the couple as Vash engulfed Meryl in his tender embrace.
"Vash! You idiot! You're hurt again!"
He smiled. "Love you too."
Meryl sighed heavily and hugged him back. "I thought we were supposed to be doing this together."
Vash shook his head slowly and sighed. "I knew ahead of time Quinn wouldn't be there," he said after a moment. "I just had to check it out, see if there were any more pieces to this puzzle of ours waiting for us. I needed to get there before the trail ran cold."
Faye wondered if he was speaking the truth. He'd said he wanted to check things out. He hadn't even needed her, but she'd insisted. After nearly a day's rest, she couldn't see herself not going back to the scene of the crime. Maybe it was the bounty hunter in her. Whatever it was, it smelled of money. Dirty money.
Besides, now that she had Vash the Stampede within her grasp, she couldn't let him out of sight, could she? A small smirk curled the corner of her lips. She wondered what the guys were doing. They'd probably be kicking themselves to know just how close she was to sixty billion double-dollars, and yet, something held her back.
Probably her conscience. After all, Vash wasn't at all the man people thought he was. That kind of thing wasn't supposed to effect the job of a bounty hunter. Money was money, and she couldn't let her emotions stand in the way.
Yet, in a great many ways, the situation here was different.
"You were shot, weren't you?"
Vash grinned. "Just nicked my cheek a couple times."
"Vash! What the hell were you doing?" Meryl was redfaced as she jabbed the end of her finger against his chest. "Trying to make it look real?"
"Trying? Hell, I was up against a trio of lookalikes, Meryl. But they were more than that. They share my skills, too." His smile faded as he slowly shook his head. "Believe me, it was real enough."
Meryl sighed and remembered the realization she'd come to when she'd found that he had left her behind. While he'd run into trouble along the way, she knew she'd been right. Vash had gone to see what lay ahead, or at least, what might have been there before. Still, she wondered. "Vash, were there really thousands of…of them?"
"I didn't see them, but yeah, they were there."
"What about the three?"
Vash drew a slow breath and tapped his prosthetic arm. She swallowed. It seemed her lover needed to reload. She lay her head against his shoulder. "Were you followed?"
Vash's expression hardened. "We don't have to worry about that."
Faye glanced to Bran, who watched Vash and Meryl out of the corner of his eye as he remained in the driver's seat. Mercia had come along to his side, leaning over to him, her head on his shoulder. Uri sat in the doorway of the house, watching Vash intently, his large, pink tongue hanging from the corner of his mouth.
Meryl smiled, relieved. "No witnesses?"
"There was nobody left," Faye confirmed. "Vash took care of that."
But the plant-spawn shook his head. "No, that's not it." He drew a slow breath, fixing his lover with a stern gaze, a look on his face that assured her that trouble was brewing on their horizon. There would be no more rest. It was time for action. "Meryl, they built an army of thousands. If they were going after you or me, don't you think that's a bit excessive?" Faye frowned at that, turning her eyes back to Vash. He didn't sound at all like as the idiot she'd originally took him for. By the cold look on Meryl's face, something important had struck home. Vash put words to his feelings, words that made Faye's blood run cold: "He's planning on conquest."
"Who would want this fucking rock?" Faye muttered.
Meryl shot her a look, but she couldn't blame her for saying what she was thinking. There really wasn't much use for Gunsmoke. Meryl had never had any, save that it was the only home she had ever known. If not for Gunsmoke, Project SEEDS would have failed in the dead of space. Milly, Wolfwood, her former Bernardelli coworkers, her own parents, despite the trouble her father had caused and the pain he continued to bring to the world…so many of the people she had come to know would never have existed.
For Meryl, that was a troubling thought.
Vash lowered his shoulders as he sighed, staring somberly into Meryl's eyes.
"It's not the planet they're after, Faye," he said quietly.
"Then what is it?"
Uri rose from his haunches and strolled slowly over toward the plant-spawn, as if moving to guard both him and his lover. All eyes turned to Vash as he considered his words. Meryl took his arm, reminding him that she was here for him, and that she would always be at his side. She felt him give her a reassuring squeeze. Good man, she thought.
Vash narrowed his eyes, grim. "He wants the Millennium Arc."